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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901453">You cooled a heart that burned with desire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacerta26/pseuds/Lacerta26'>Lacerta26</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>In the crooks of your body, I find my religion [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Downton Abbey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Richard "Dick" Ellis, Smoking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:47:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,634</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901453</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacerta26/pseuds/Lacerta26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard watches Thomas smoke and has some feelings about how good he looks doing it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>In the crooks of your body, I find my religion [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045792</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You cooled a heart that burned with desire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This could be a companion piece to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450017">there is no place for grief in a house which serves the muse</a> - for context Thomas and Richard are no longer in service and have moved to York together!</p><p>Title from Sappho: You came and I was longing for you/You cooled a heart that burned with desire</p><p>Smoking is very bad for you etc.</p><p>Thanks for reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Richard pauses halfway through tidying up in the kitchen to glance out of the window into their back garden. Thomas had mentioned something about weeding earlier but Richard can see through the window that he’s propped himself against the tiny lean-to and is just about to light a cigarette. </p><p>Richard has never picked up the habit himself, never wanted to, but there is something about the way Thomas smokes that always makes him want to watch. </p><p>Back at Downton, when they first met and Richard thought he was being dangerously obvious, telegraphing his intent with every smile, he’d come across Thomas, <em> Mr Barrow </em> as he was then, lounging insouciantly in the courtyard, cigarette between his lips, eyebrows raised and daring. </p><p>Thomas puts his cigarette between his lips now and Richard leans heavily against the sink. Thomas's hands are steady and sure and he holds the cigarette lightly like he knows there’s no chance he’ll drop it. Richard loves Thomas’s hands. Both of them. Even with his injury he’s dextrous, fine boned and delicate, so unlike Richard’s workman’s hands, inherited from his father; made for mud and hard work, always tanned and worn, even more so now he’s not in service to the King any longer.  </p><p>Cupping his hands around the lighter that flares briefly in the low light of the afternoon, Thomas cradles and protects the flame from the wind as he leans towards it. The cloud of smoke billows large around him, the first drag never that deep and he tips his head back against the shed and lets the smoke escape his mouth, lips parted and eyes closed.</p><p>In ‘27 he’d blown out the smoke like a challenge before issuing a real one; <em> how would you feel about getting Mr Wilson’s back up? Nothing serious. His Majesty’ll never know.  </em></p><p>Richard hadn’t known what to say to that. To this man who had so caught his attention from the moment they arrived, who had been wary, reticent to acknowledge Richard’s overtures, boldly asking a servant of the Royal Household to deceive a superior. All Richard could do was smile, and agree.</p><p>Although it’s cold outside Thomas is wearing only scruffy trousers and a worn undershirt, old clothes meant for gardening. The shirt is soft at the collar, the buttons open around his throat, the tendons in his neck straining with each inhale, the tension easing on the exhale and Richard has a sudden desire to put his teeth there, at the point of Thomas’s pulse. He wonders if it would be worth taking up smoking just to give him an excuse to be there, closer, to not just watch but join in the dance, mirror Thomas’s movement, lean in to share the same flame from a lighter, huddle close in the cold.</p><p>They’d shared a cigarette then, after their evening in York. Thomas had needed it, still rattled from his brush with the law, and neither of them wanted to call it a night. Richard had tried to cover a cough, which only made it worse, eyes watering after one drag and Thomas had laughed at him but they stayed outside, talking long after Thomas finished the cigarette. In the present moment Thomas ashes his cigarette, holds it still lit in the cupped palm of his hand as if he’s waiting for someone to offer it to and Richard wants very badly to accept.</p><p>If it were not for every other part of him Thomas’s cheekbones would be Richard’s favourite. Sharp and high and dare one say <em> aristocratic. </em>Thomas smokes like he knows they’re his best feature, too, cheeks hollowed, mouth a perfect pout, holding in the smoke. Even from this distance Richard can see the colour high on Thomas’s cheeks. He’s so pale any flush is stark against his skin; when he blushes, in bed or when he’s teased, or now, standing outside in the cold, the autumn air pinkening his cheeks. Two almost perfect circles that look like they’ve been pressed there by fingers, like he’s wearing rouge, dark lashes looking like they’ve been painted. Thomas is a private man, tries to keep himself contained, but his body gives him away, tells Richard everything he needs to know.</p><p>He inhales again as Richard watches, the perfect moue of his mouth closing round the end of his cigarette, lax again when he lets out the smoke. Thomas never rushes a cigarette if he can help it, every move deliberate, hand to mouth and exhaling smoke with such slow certainty it’s like he wants to be watched, drawing the attention to the turn of his wrist, the bow of his lips. He smokes like it’s punctuation, a suspended moment in each day, to pause, to relax, but he also smokes like it’s seduction, savouring it, letting it linger.  </p><p>He does it even now, when he doesn’t know he’s being watched, it’s unselfconscious, instinctive; he’s been smoking cigarettes like this for so long it’s an extension of himself, even when there are no eyes to catch and no gentlemen to impress. </p><p>Richard lets himself be impressed anyway. </p><p>He leans closer to the window, his whole body yearning towards Thomas as Thomas tips his head back again, breathes out the smoke. The motion is repetitive, soothing, and Richard comes back to himself with sudden awareness, he can feel the edge of the sink hard against his hip bone, the damp cloth in his hand. He feels hot under his jumper, at the backs of his knees and at the nape of his neck. His prick is half hard in his trousers, just from watching Thomas smoke, just from looking with purpose at his hands, his mouth, the push and pull between them. </p><p>Richard can see that Thomas is nearly finished with the cigarette, the tip an almost dying ember in the half light, and as Thomas turns suddenly towards the house Richard steps back from the window sharply. The light isn’t on in the kitchen and it’s dark enough inside that he probably can’t be seen. The pulse of adrenaline at the prospect of being caught simmers beneath his skin into anticipation; Thomas won’t mind having been looked at and Richard only looks with appreciation, with desire. </p><p>Stepping forward again Richard watches as Thomas drops his cigarette to the ground and grinds it out beneath his heel before walking towards the back door. The expectation makes Richard giddy, standing in the dark, about to be caught. </p><p>When Thomas steps into the room he brings with him a rush of cold air, sharp and clean, and the smell of smoke, rich and sweet and Richard is waiting for him.</p><p>‘Dick?’ Thomas says, with laughter in his voice, kicking off his boots by the door, ‘what are you doing stood here in the dark?’</p><p>It has got dark Richard realises, the autumn daylight fading quicker than you can blink, and he was so caught up in Thomas that he didn’t even notice. </p><p>‘Do you know what you look like?’ says Richard, his voice comes out rough, ‘when you smoke.’</p><p>Thomas laughs again but it’s deeper this time and he steps closer, smelling of dry tobacco and his pomade, one hand curled at Richard’s hip, the other flat, bracketing the top of Richard’s thigh, ‘no, but I suspect you’re going to tell me.’ </p><p>‘Like you were made to look good doing it,’ Richard breathes, ‘they should put you on the cartons.’</p><p>Even though it’s dark in the room Richard knows Thomas is blushing, he can feel the heat radiating off him as they stand there cheek to cheek</p><p>‘Don’t be silly.’</p><p>‘I’m not being silly. I like it. I like watching you.’ </p><p>‘Show me,’ is all Thomas says and Richard has to lean back to look at his face, to glean his meaning. In the low light Richard can see the flush at the high points of his cheekbones but there’s a pleased gleam in his eye and he swallows round the words before continuing, ‘show me how much you like it.’ </p><p>Richard can’t fall to his knees fast enough. </p><p>The floor is cold but Thomas's hands are warm in his hair. Richard often wishes there was some way he could do this and <em> watch </em>himself doing this but if the way Thomas smokes a cigarette is anything to go by, watching him lost in this specific pleasure would be Richard’s undoing.</p><p>He pushes the soft cotton of Thomas’s shirt out of the waistband of his trousers one handed, finding skin, still chilled from standing outside for so long and the scrape of his nails gently across Thomas’s belly makes Thomas gasp. His prick is already firm against Richard's palm as he strokes him through the rough wool and it’s gratifying to know Richard's not the only one affected by this; that the thought of him, watching Thomas and liking it, appeals to Thomas as well. </p><p>When Richard looks up, just to check, to confirm, the sight is breathtaking; Thomas lent back against the scrubbed wooden table, his arms spread wide now, to brace himself against it, head back and face beatific as Richard gets him out of his trousers. He shifts forward to find the best angle, the smell of smoke and outdoors still permeates but here, on his knees, all that matters is the indefinable scent of Thomas, how he smells in the mornings, warm and sleepy by Richard’s side. </p><p>He starts the way he knows Thomas likes, his mouth soft at the head of his prick, gently lapping where the taste of him is strongest and Thomas lets out a gasp, barely audible. They’re still getting used to it, having a modicum of privacy, being able to be vocal when they’re together like this, within reason, they do still have neighbours. Richard squeezes his hands on Thomas’s thighs in encouragement and licks down the length of him, root to tip and Thomas really does moan then, high and breathy, one hand back in Richard’s hair. </p><p>With a hand at the base Richard slides his mouth halfway down Thomas’s prick. He’s fully hard now, a firm weight on Richard’s tongue and he whimpers when Richard sucks at him, shifts his hips imperceptibly forward but he’s hemmed in against the table, can only move as far as Richard’ll let him. </p><p>‘Easy, love,’ Richard pulls back and off, gives Thomas a couple of firm strokes with his hand, just to give himself a moment to watch Thomas enjoying this. </p><p>The look of him is captivating. </p><p>‘Please, Dick. <em> Richard,’ </em>Thomas opens his eyes and looks down, his face so open and raw it takes Richard by surprise. </p><p>Thomas has very little patience for delayed gratification unless Richard makes him take it slowly, not to rush as fast as possible to the inevitable conclusion, but it’s very difficult not to give him what he wants when he looks at Richard like <em> that </em>. </p><p>He takes Thomas into his mouth again, flattening his tongue and feeling Thomas’s prick pulse. Richard hums around him, translating the vibration along the length of him, moving to take him deeper. Up off his haunches he can open his throat, widen his jaw, take as much of Thomas as he’s able until he has to move, pull off to breathe and above him Thomas is panting too, his eyes glassy, whole body languid and relaxed. </p><p>In the pause Richard pulls down Thomas’s trousers and underthings, helps with a hand on each calf for him to step out of them and does his best not to think about bare arses in the kitchen. He cups Thomas’s bollocks, presses a finger to the space behind them and is rewarded with a punched out whine above him and Thomas’s hands tightening in his hair. God, he is thankful every day that he has this. This man that he loves in this home that’s theirs.</p><p>They settle into a rhythm, Richard moving back and forth, pausing every so often to suck at the crown, mouthing at the ridge there, exploring with his tongue against the slit until Thomas sucks in a desperate breath, presses himself forward again.  It all sounds so loud in the quiet of the room, Thomas's little breathy noises of pleasure, the slick sound of Richard’s mouth against him, the rustle of their clothing. His own prick is straining in his trousers, ignored for now, it won’t take much, after this, and besides, it’s all about Thomas in this moment. It’s not often they find themselves in this position; Richard still fully clothed and Thomas mostly naked. Thomas likes the alternative best but Richard will go to his knees like this any time he’s asked. </p><p>Thomas loosens his hips, widening his stance against the table and that’s a sure sign that he’s close. Richard takes him back deep into his throat, applies himself to tracing the veins running up and down the length of him, lapping and licking at him until Thomas is shifting and moaning against him, delirious with the pleasure of it. </p><p>Slick with his own spit between Thomas’s legs Richard strokes a gentle finger, finds the soft furl of his entrance and rubs there, not inside, not tonight, just teasing and Thomas swears, hips twisting and that’s encouragement enough. </p><p>As much as he wants Thomas to come in his mouth he wants to watch it happen even more. </p><p>‘Dick, I…’ Thomas looks down at him again, hips rocking his prick into the circle of Richard’s hand almost unconsciously. </p><p>‘Yes, I want to see you,’ Richard nods, smiles to show he means it, moves his hand with more assurance, firm and quick, ‘on my face, love, go on.’</p><p>
  <em> ‘Christ, I -’  </em>
</p><p>Whatever else Thomas had wanted to say is lost as he comes; painting Richard’s face, his body tense with pleasure and then not as he sinks into it, shaking through his climax. If Thomas looks as he does while he smokes, the ecstasy of this is beyond description; head tipped back, mouth open, flushed from his chest to the roots of his hair. He sags against the table and then down onto the floor beside Richard, looking dazed and pleased, soft and quiet with his forehead against Richard’s shoulder as he finds his voice to speak. </p><p>‘What do you…?’ </p><p>Richard reaches for the cloth he dropped earlier and cleans the worst off his face, his hand gentle on Thomas’s thigh, not breaking the connection between them. </p><p>‘What do you want to give me?’</p><p>‘After that? Anything you ask for,’ Thomas kisses him deeply, sighing against him, warm and smelling only of himself and sex, the last of the smoke faded now. </p><p>‘Just you, Thomas,’ it’s sentimental and potentially not that helpful but Richard can’t think of a more truthful answer. </p><p>Thomas understands, though, gathers him close with open mouthed kisses, tasting himself on Richard’s skin. His hand on Richard’s prick is gentle, careful not to overwhelm him even through his clothes and it’s with perfect glorious finality that Richard starts to come, before they’re skin to skin, ruining his trousers and not caring for a single second. </p><p>He revels in the shining pleasure of it, eyes closed and sharing breath, sat beside Thomas on the kitchen floor, his knees reminding him he may be getting too old for this but by god was it worth it. </p><p>After a beat Thomas stands, offering Richard his hand, ‘come on, I’ll run you a bath.’</p><p>‘Will you join me in it?’ Richard grins into another kiss, pulling Thomas close and laughing with him.</p><p>‘I suppose so,’ Thomas grins back, indulgently, pulling on his trousers for the journey up the stairs as Richard watches him. </p><p>And Richard will watch him, a witness to his extraordinary beauty, for as long as he can, for as long as Thomas will let him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow me on <a href="https://lacerta26.tumblr.com">tumblr!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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